


While Our Beds Are Burning

by rowofstars



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-10 22:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4410659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowofstars/pseuds/rowofstars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Professor Gold and his graduate assistant Belle French grade some midterm essays... eventually.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While Our Beds Are Burning

**Author's Note:**

> This is for equipoise/thescholarlystrumpet. Because I mentioned professor/student porn and she's a dirty enabler, and a great friend.

The living room was warm and cozy, lit by two Tiffany style lamps that seemed almost too dainty to be flanking the leather sofa, with its fat tufting and brass rivets, yet fit comfortably into the space nonetheless. The old Victorian surprised her, with its salmon colored siding and green trim, and she spent a few minutes surveying the outside and the front porch before finally ringing the bell.

Belle was surprised when he offered to help her grade the over two hundred undergraduate midterm essays, and even more so when he’d suggested she come over to his place to do it. He’d had plenty of teaching assistants in the years she’d been at the university, but he always drove them to quit, or change majors or advisors, with his less than friendly demeanor and his high standards. He was a very exacting man, with strong opinions about everything, especially literature, who liked things done his way. It had taken her years to earn his trust, years in which she’d fought her growing attraction to him, without much success.

This was her first semester as a full graduate teaching assistant, which was a big step up from the chaos and long hours of her early undergrad TA days. And it paid too, which made her goal of getting the hell out of her father’s house an actual possibility. Six weeks in and she felt like they had finally settled into a rhythm, a routine that allowed her time for her graduate studies while also covering lectures and office hours when needed.

Her fingers brushed the fat leather spines of the books along one shelf as she brought the glass to her lips, sipping the faintly sweet red wine. Burns and Maclaren flashed back at her, the shiny lettering twinkling in the firelight. She traced the letters and then sighed, turning back to the sofa and the coffee table and stacks of essays. Her jacket was draped over the arm of a chair, damp from the light rain outside, and her sweater was on the back of the couch, discarded after a few minutes in front of the fireplace and a couple sips of wine. Gold was in the kitchen making dinner.

It was getting to be less about grading essays.

The clatter and clang of a pot drew her attention to the kitchen where she found Gold trying to balance a cutting board full of diced vegetables, and a glass canister of pasta. He was leaning with his hip against the edge of the counter, trying to keep his weight off his bad leg.

He froze in place when he saw her, and Belle smiled. “Need some help, Dr. Gold?”

“You can call me Liam, you know,” he said. The cutting board and canister made it to the counter safely, and he tossed his hair out of his eyes with a quick shake of his head.

He gave her a half smile while he stirred the pasta into the boiling water, and she dipped her head shyly, smiling back all the same.

There was no singular transition to how they got here. Between his offer of dinner and her second glass of wine, there was a text message from Ruby. Her dad was on his third drink at the Rabbit Hole.

There was no one to wait up tonight.

“It’s still a _little_ weird,” Belle admitted. She let him take the glass from her, watching the deep red liquid slosh up and around the side as he refilled it.

Gold laughed.

As soon as the words were out that morning he’d wanted to take them back. It was inappropriate to invite a student into his home, even if she wasn’t exactly his student. Wasn’t it? They were really colleagues now, more or less. He was her graduate advisor and in another two years she’d be faculty somewhere. Here, if he had his way, or close by so maybe he could still see her now and then.

And now he was pouring her more wine and making her dinner.

He was hopeless.

“I missed you in class last semester,” he said, taking the time to hand the glass back to her before he tended to the sauce bubbling on the stove.

She snorted. “Liar.”

Then she took another sip of her wine and hopped up to sit on the counter, watching him.

He had to admit that he liked this casual look of hers, worn jeans and a soft, faded t-shirt. It was very different from what he usually saw her in at school, always with her pretty skirts and blouses, so pretty and delicate. It made him want to protect her, despite knowing she had been regularly attending the self defense classes offered on campus, even helping to teach the beginner's class last semester. Most of the time she wore high heels that made her almost as tall as he was, which wasn’t saying much, but tonight she’d showed up in flats and it struck him how tiny she really was, how easily he could wrap himself around her.

It was a dangerous line of thinking.

“I did,” he insisted, throwing her a quick grin in between tasks. “It was strange not seeing you at least once a day. No one answers my questions as well as you.”

It was her turn to laugh, tossing her head back so her wavy hair swayed across her back, nearly touching the surface of the counter. “You mean no one rambles as much, or pesters you _endlessly_ as well as me.”

He smirked and held out a wooden spoon so she could taste the sauce. “That too.” 

She held on to the spoon, her fingers almost on top of his, and sampled the sauce from the end, humming and smiling at the pleasing flavor.

Gold swallowed and licked his lips. Then he set the spoon aside and met her eyes. “There’s only one you, Belle.”

Something quiet passed between them, though she wasn’t sure what it was. He hardly ever used her first name, and had only started to do so last year. He turned away and focused on draining the pasta and turning off the burners.

“You give me too much credit,” she said. It was more for herself than him, but she said it loud enough that she knew he could hear.

She smiled a little when he looked at her, dipping her head as he crossed the short space to stand next to her. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, had been since they’d sat down in his living room to work. It was something she shouldn’t have been that focused on, but when she was used to his three-piece suits, seeing his bare skin felt almost scandalous.

“And some people don’t give you enough,” he said, softly.

She laughed, but her voice was dry, and it came out short and almost like a scoff. He frowned and reached up, brushing back some of her hair from where it had fallen over her eyes. His fingers trailed through the soft strands, then whispered over her cheek.

Her breath caught and she swallowed, watching his jaw tense as he held his hand in place a moment before letting it drop. It landed on her knee, and made her pulse thrum in her ears. His palm was too warm, and without thinking her fingers curled over the fabric of his shirt where it bunched in the crook of his arm.

“I’m sure I’m quite frustrating,” she muttered, staring intently at the blue, starched cotton. His tie was already off when she got there, and he’d undone the first button of his shirt, leaving a little open, bare patch of skin right at the base of his throat. The dip between his collarbones looked like the perfect spot for her tongue, and the feel of her forearm against his, skin to skin, was something she liked entirely too much.

“Yes,” he agreed, nodding slightly.

There might have been a smile too.

There was another moment of time, another change in this thing between them, and then Belle was leaning in, her nose bumping his. She could feel his breath, hot for a second, before she kissed him. Her fingers pressed against his jaw, lingering over his cheek, and then moved up to slip behind his neck, pulling him forward. His hair was soft, and she slid her fingers into it greedily, wanting to touch as much of him as she could before he inevitably pushed her away, told her this was wrong.

Gold liked that she kissed him first. He always liked it when she was confident and went for what she wanted, like when she marched into his office and practically ordered him to write a letter of recommendation for the master’s program. He didn’t tell her he’d had it written for weeks.

She caught his lip in hers, sucked gently before her tongue slipped between them. He let her be in control, let her kiss him the way she wanted, hot and heavy, trading little sounds from the back of her throat for the low rumble in his, her teeth catching his bottom lip as she pulled back.

Then her legs shifted, opening to let him stand between them, and there was intent in that, weightier than anything, even the kiss itself. It was how he knew she wasn’t leaving tonight.

His hands were at her waist, pushing up and under her shirt so his thumbs could stroke over her skin. She pulled herself against him, fingers playing in the hair at the back of his neck. He moaned into her mouth, and she felt herself getting wet, felt something unravel inside her, tugging at her as he moved one hand to fist in her hair.

He pulled a little, and her mouth opened wide, gasped across his tongue. She sucked in a quick breath before he pressed against her, grinding his erection against the seam of her jeans. She leaned back, bracing a hand on the counter, and he bent his head to her breasts, sucking her nipple through her shirt and bra.

Everything was a mess. They were a mess. And what scared her was how much she wanted it, wanted him over her and in her, behind her, and between her legs, his mouth sticky and shiny with her. She wanted it in his bed, his office, the apartment she was going to get over Christmas break.

“Oh,” she groaned, shifting her hips to rub against his erection, seeking all the friction she could manage. “We shouldn’t –”

He lifted his head long enough to breath out a ‘no’ before latching on to her neck, sucking and licking at the curve of it.

“So good,” she whispered. “ _God_ , Liam – I – I’m sorry –”

He stopped and pulled back, eyebrows knit in concern. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeated, pushing herself upright as he stepped back. Her hands were on his shoulders, fingers toying with the collar of his shirt. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that, I just – I wanted – and I thought maybe you would, and then _I_ did, and _you_ did – and we shouldn’t. And now dinner is getting cold and we have two hundred and seven essays to grade, and –”

Belle stopped and looked up, lips twitching when she saw Gold’s raised eyebrows and slight grin. “I’m rambling,” she said simply.

He nodded, relaxing a little as he realized she was as nervous as he was. “You’re rambling.”

She looked up at him and saw how dark his eyes were, how her fingers had left his hair even more unruly than usual. He wanted this, wanted _her_ , and that made her feel powerful.

Smirking, she ran her fingers down over his shoulders and into the little gap in his dress shirt. His breath hitched at the first touch of her fingertips. She moved her hands down and fumbled a bit before she managed to pop the first button on his shirt.

He swallowed hard and shook his head. “I’m not sorry.”

She looked him in the eyes as she popped the next button. “I know.” Another. “I’m not either.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

His bedroom was dark and the sheets were a mess, still folded back from when he got up that morning. A thick knit blanket slumped off one corner, half on the floor. There was a notepad and pen on the nightstand, and two pillows tucked into the bay window.

It was somehow exactly what she expected.

His dress shirt was still in the kitchen, and he let her get him out of his trousers too before he sat on the end of the bed. She moved to stand in front of him, pulling her t-shirt over her head as he watched. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders, wavy, and more to one side than the other.

She popped the button on her jeans, and he reached out, flattened his hand over her stomach, and slid up between her breasts, over the little bow on the front of her bra.

“I’ve thought about you,” Gold said, hand trailing back down her body to help peel the denim over her hips. “Like this.”

“Yeah?” She licked her lips and pulled her feet out of her jeans, kicking them behind her as she stepped forward.

He looked up and took a slow breath, then bent to rest his forehead against her bare abdomen. “Yes.”

Belle ran her fingers through his hair and down over his neck, and he hummed contentedly. There was an intimacy in the moment that even later she didn’t know how to let herself have. It’s not something she’d felt with anyone else, and though it felt strange, it wasn’t out of place.

“Me too,” she said quietly.

He exhaled, and his whole body shuddered at the thought that she really did want him as much as he wanted her. Her fingers under his chin made him tip his head back, looking up to meet her eyes. The way she looked down at him, her eyes dark, her tongue flicking over bottom lip, made him forget that he was supposed to be nervous about this.

She reached behind her while she held his gaze, and unhooked her bra. It fell into his lap, and he stared down at it briefly, before lifting his head again. Her breasts were almost even with his mouth, and now it was his turn to lick his lips hungrily.

Gold shook his head in disbelief. “You’re beautiful, sweetheart.” The he reached for her, his mouth opening slightly, but she stepped back out of his grasp and shimmied out of her underwear.

She had a small tattoo of a rose, no bigger than a bottle cap, on the inside of her hipbone, never to be seen unless she was naked. The open petals and leaves were outlined in strong black lines, but the whole thing was filled with color, reds, pinks, and purples, all fading in and out of one another in a watercolor style. It was unexpected, but very pretty.

“You’re turn,” she said, grinning and stepping close again.

His thumb brushed over the rose, back and forth, and she raised her eyebrows at him like she expected him to question it, but he just gave her a half smile. Then he sighed, and pushed to his feet, a little unsteady without his cane, and felt her eyes rake over him as he shucked his boxers to the floor. He swallowed as he fought the urge to cover himself before she could find fault with some part of him.

The little noise she made was all he needed to find his confidence again, and this time when he reached for her, she came to him, letting him crush her against his body as he kissed her. He turned her with him, easing her down onto the bed with a hand at the back of her head, and then followed her as she moved back up the mattress.

She was glad they were lying down because the slowness and care he was taking made her knees weak.

Belle felt him thick and hard against her thigh, as he bent his head to her breast. His teeth tugged at her nipple as he slowly worked two fingers into her, teasing her and spreading her arousal over her already swollen folds. He moved from one breast to the other, licking and kissing every inch of skin in between.

“So wet,” he sighed. “So warm.”

She arched into his touch, tried to push down against his hand and get him deeper. But then he pulled away and she made a frustrated noise that shifted into a moan when she saw his head move between her legs. He opened his mouth against her, and she felt his teeth, that were just recently tormenting her breast, now rough over her pussy. His tongue flicked against her clit, dipped in and down, circling her opening and back up again until she keened.

He slid an arm under her, lifted her hips up to a better angle and then lapped at her slowly, like he had all night to spend between her thighs. She pulled at his hair, swore and said his name – _Liam_ – and he loved the way that sounded, desperate and filled with need. Her legs spread wider, and he glanced up to see her watching him. Her mouth was open, hair wild and sticking to her forehead, the side of her face, her neck.

He pulled away and rose up over her, pushed her back, and then kissed her while his lips were still sticky and wet with her. She whimpered into his mouth, clenched around his fingers as he pushed them into her, curling them until he found the spot that made her breath stop. He still had a hand under her, squeezing her backside when he made her come.

She wasn’t even back to herself yet when he slid his cock between her folds, pushing the tip in just enough for her to feel herself stretch. She gasped and then he pulled away, taking himself in hand and stroking his cock while she watched and licked her lips.

He rubbed the head through her slit, spread the moisture up and over her clit, the length of him sliding against her. He bent his head and took a nipple in his mouth again, worrying the little bud with his teeth, wondering if he could make her come with just the friction and pressure of his shaft sliding over her, everything sloppy and sticky.

She bit her lip and practically growled at him. “Laim, _fuck_. _Please_.”

Gold smirked and lowered himself so their bodies were finally touching. They both groaned, like it was some kind of shared catharsis, and he shook off the insistent desire to always analyze.

He slipped back between her folds, pressing into her again as he pulled her leg up, fingertips tight over her thigh. Belle felt herself stretch more as he eased inside her, and she tightened around him until he groaned and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Belle,” he gasped. She grinned and did it again, and he made a noise in the back of his throat. “Shit, sweetheart, you’re tight.”

He rolled forward, finally pushing all the way in, and she bit her lip again as her head tipped back into the pillow. He was deep, really deep, and it hurt a little, but she couldn’t help arching up into him and bending her other leg to squeeze his hips between her thighs. She felt him start to move, pulling almost all the way out before he thrust back into her again.

She wanted him to move faster, rougher, needed him to fuck her hard to the sound of the headboard hitting the wall. But he kept the pace steady, always all the way out and in. Her cunt fluttered around him and he groaned, slowing to a near stop.

She almost giggled, and he nipped at her neck to quiet her.

“Is that how you want it?” he asked. His voice rasped in her ear, and she moaned, hissing out a yes.

He shifted to the side, propped himself up on one arm and began to move faster, slamming into her with sharp jerks of his hips, his cock finding some spot that had her crying out with every movement, over and over again. She grabbed at the sheets, spread her thighs wider, and shifted until the weight of him pressed against her aching clit, still swollen and hard from his mouth. His other hand cupped her breast, rubbing his palm over her nipple before he pinched it, tugging in time with the thick slide of him inside her.

She cried out and thrashed under him as her orgasm hung just out of reach.

“Not yet,” he said, and she thought she might just die. But then he lifted up just a bit, grabbed hold of the top edge of the headboard, using it as leverage to twist his hips just so –

She screamed.

She came so hard she screamed, and it might have been fuck, or yes, or even his name, she didn’t know or care because he didn’t stop, keeping the rhythm through the twitching and flexing of her cunt. When he finished a moment later she could feel it, hot and sticky, dripping out of her when he pulled out one last time.

He slumped to the side and then after a moment stretched his arm around her, pulling her to him. She smiled against his chest, but already she hated the emptiness, hated how she missed the feeling of him inside her, and how it didn’t seem like as much of a mistake as it should’ve been.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Belle was naked, save for his shirt, of which she’d only buttoned two buttons, leaving the rest undone and open over her waist. They were in his kitchen again, talking about Sartre because they both, apparently, get a little silly and existential after sex.

It was only a little after eight and Gold was reheating their abandoned dinner. Her body was sore, aching in places she wasn’t used to, or maybe that she never had, given some of the less than stellar lovers she’d had in the past.

Smiling, she swung her feet back and forth, letting her heels bounce against the lower cabinets. He turned to grin at her, trousers slung low on his hips without the benefit of a belt.

Then he moved to her, holding a plate, and dipped his finger in the sauce he just finished reheating. She took hold of his wrist and lifted it to her mouth, flicking her tongue against his fingertip before wrapping her lips around it and sucking. He exhaled and set the plate down harder than intended, the fork that was on the edge skittering across the marble next to where she was sitting.

Her lips slid lower as she lifted her gaze to his face, watching his eyes darken while her tongue worked along the ridges of his knuckles. Then she sat back, pulling her mouth off of him, slowly, until her lips left his skin with a wet pop.

“ _Jesus_.” Gold shook his head, and she laughed.

His hands spread her legs as he moved to stand between them, thumbs caressing the soft skin on the tops of her thighs.

“I’m hungry,” she whispered, leaning forward to let her lips brush against his as she spoke.

“Dinner’s already gone cold once,” he said, tilting his head slightly. “It won’t reheat again.”

Belle’s fingers curled over the waistband of his trousers. “Then we’ll get take out.”

He smiled. “It’s a school night.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

It was dirty and dangerous, and there were the possible consequences of the university, his career, and her entire future. But the drag of his fingers over her clit and his mouth on her breast made it nearly impossible to care. She’d never let herself stray this far outside the lines before, far beyond sneaking out to see her boyfriend and getting caught and grounded.

It felt better this time, more exciting, and it was fitting that it should be him that made her do it.

She hummed. “God, you feel good.”

He laughed, strangled and falling into a groan as she eased herself down, sinking onto his cock, her knees digging into the mattress. She liked the way he made her stretch, the way it felt familiar now, even though it was only the second time.

“And you feel amazing.” His hands squeezed her waist, not really trying to make her move faster, just conveying his frustrated desired She liked that too. Her hips twisted a little as she leaned forward, bracing her hands on his chest. He made that little noise again, the one that sounded so desperate and needy.

She bit her lip and smiled, rocking her hips slowly, and he smirked. “You shouldn’t tease, Miss French.”

She moaned when he pitched his hips into hers, lifting her up a bit and pushing deeper. “And you shouldn’t be fucking your student, Dr. Gold.”

“I think you’re the one who’s fucking me.” His fingers tightened on her waist, and she hummed again and rolled her hips.

She gasped, squeezing her pussy around his length, hard and warm between her thighs. His accent was thicker, his voice lower, and it was just like she’d imagined in the dark of her room with her fingers buried between her thighs. Her nails dug into his chest, pressed the skin white and left it red. She bit her lip, and felt a low rumble under her palms as he moaned.

His eyes were dark and wide in the dim light from the bedside lamp, his hands steady on her waist, just resting there as he watched her sink down on his cock. He never thought he would be lucky enough to have Belle in his bed even once, much less twice in the same night. If he had his way she’d be here every night, whether she wanted to fuck or not.

He lifted his hips again, sharply, pulling her down hard against him until she cried out.

“Better?” he asked, smirking, as her mouth fell open in a quiet oh.

She wiggled her hips until she found the right position and angle, earning her a hitched groan, before she relaxed and rode him, fucking herself on his cock in a steady rhythm. Her legs spread more, and she slipped lower, loving the heat, the friction, and the sharp sparks of pleasure when he hit something just right. His hands shifted to grip her thighs, urging her to move faster and harder, but she resisted, preferring the slow build and the syrupy warmth spreading on the inside of her thighs.

Her fingers slid down and circled her swollen clit, occasionally brushing his shaft, sticky and wet from her. His head flopped back on the pillow, hair messed, cheeks flushed, and she loved the control she had over him, the way his hips moved up and into hers, trying to push himself deeper like his cock couldn’t get enough.

“Sweetheart,” he gasped. “So good.”

His words made her lose the beat for second, and he started to fuck her in earnest, raising his hips higher, and pulling her down with his hands. She picked it up again, rubbed herself harder, grinding down on his cock as she clenched her cunt tight, trying to get him deeper and deeper.

“Belle – _fuck_ ,” he stuttered between panted breaths, but she barely heard him over the rush of blood in her ears and the wet slapping sound of their movements.

Her breasts bounced as she moved hard and fast, rocking her hips forward, until she felt him come, hot and thick inside her. His fingers touched her clit, his thumb just a little rougher than hers, and just what she needed to push over the edge, crying out her orgasm.

He softened after a minute or two, where the only sound was their breathing, and then slipped out of her. She felt loose and wet, and she slumped to the side, rolling off of him and onto the cool sheets. Another moment and he shifted, turning towards her and pulling the blanket over them. She turned onto her side and he curled around her, brushing back her damp hair from her forehead.

“Alright?” he asked.

She nodded. “Thirsty.”

He started to move to go get a glass of water from downstairs, but she held on to his arm and stopped him.

“In a minute,” she muttered. “Stay.”

He sighed and laid back down, pulling her against him.

Downstairs, there were still stacks of essays on romanticism and literary theory to grade, and it was still a school night.


End file.
